A Ballad of Fflewddur and Arianllyn
by FandomsSchoolwork
Summary: Fflewddur Fflam, Adaon, and Arianllyn were three inseparable young adults with a wonderful friendship, formed through a love of music. When Adaon is suddenly killed, his best friend and his fiance must learn to pick up the pieces and perhaps realize that Adaon left them each with the gift of each other. -Republished here from the Chronicles of Prydain section
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there,**

**So I've always been a fan of the Chronicles of Prydain, too big a fan in fact. One thing that always bothered me was a lack of attention given to Fflewddur's mourning of the man who was described as one of his dearest friends. Adaon as a fellow bard and a young man whom he looked up to should have been mourned more than, "There are few like Adaon, we can ill afford the loss". So, this is a headcanon of mine that has been building for years now about Fflewddur's backstory at the academy, his friendship with Adaon and his fiance Arianllyn, and an exploration of what may have happened between Fflewddur and Arianllyn after Adaon's death**

* * *

_Just then a horseman cantered up and called to Fflewddur by name. The bard gave a cry of pleasure."That's Adaon, son of the Chief Bard Taliesin," he told Taran. "Caer Dallben is indeed honored today!"_

_..._

_Fflewddur looked after him with affection and admiration. "It can be no small matter if Adaon is here," he said. "He is one of the bravest men I know. That and more, for he has the heart of a true bard. Someday he will surely be our greatest, you can mark my words."_

**The Black Cauldron- Chapter 1 Pages 11-12**

* * *

**"It is true. Indeed, that is why I dared not speak. I have yearned to be again at the side of my beloved Arianllyn, and my thoughts are with her now. But had I chosen to return, I would ever wonder whether my choice was made through wisdom or following the wishes of my own heart. I see this is as it must be, and the destiny laid upon me. I am content to die here." **

**Adaon's dying words**

* * *

A Fflam never mourns, his heart is too full of music and honor to be weighed down by grief...he glories in battle, both in its victories and even in loss, for tragedies often make the greatest tales... at least, that was what Fflewddur Fflam repeated to himself as he looked over at the injured form of his dearest and oldest friend.

However; he did not feel like writing great ballads or singing.

Adaon, son of Taliesin, a truer bard than Flewdeur had ever been, lay prostrate over his beloved Lluagor's mane, wounded by those vile Huntsmen of Annuvin. He gasped and winced in pain as he cradled his wounds. The rearing over his horse only further opening his wound which gushed an alarming amount of blood.

Adaon looked across the field and his eyes, beneath strands of raven black hair plastered with sweat to his forehead, found Fflewddur. Those dark serious eyes which Fflewddur had only ever seen at peace, were shaken with an awareness of something, and a well of sadness. It was like seeing the mountains get angry, or watching an ancient tree shake its leaves in grief, those two things just did not seem to belong. Fflewddur felt a jolt of fear so strong that it burned white hot in his gut, making him both nauseated and angry.

_How dare they...how dare they lay a hand on he who is...next to Gwydion, the best of men. _

Time on the battlefield seemed to slow as the gangly king surveyed the action around him. Doli yelled furiously, his face as red as his ears as he wielded his ax atop his little pony. Taran leaped from his horse and desperately tried to reach Lluagor's loose reins. He endeavored to put himself between the enemy and Eilonwy with his free sword arm while the startled princess stared white-faced from behind him, her lips moving constantly in some attempt at a spell.

It was too much too fast.

He needed to give them all some time. Any time to get safe.

Fflewddur brandished his sword furiously, shouting out his rage until he managed to make it to Doli's side.

"Doli!" He shouted over the din. "Doli, we need to draw the enemy away from the others. I need your help, Doli!"

Drawing his horse around before the retreating companions and the angry horde, Fflewddur raised his sword at Taran imperiously. "Get him to safety!" He demanded, unaware just how much he sounded like his kinsman Gwydion.

With a loud 'Hyah' he spurred his horse to leap with a grandiose bound over the hedge, the taunted huntsmen following in pursuit. Doli groaned and whipped his pony to follow the crowd through the thicket and away from the others.

He would not let them kill his dearest friend.

"A Fflam never fails!" The bard yelled defiantly at the heavens. With a discordant jangle, two of the lowest strings of his harp broke with an ominous ring.

* * *

They rode hard and fast for many minutes until both Fflewddur and his horse had worked up a lather. Doli popped in and out of visibility to lead the huntsmen away from the straggling bard whenever necessary. Just when Fflewddur wondered if he could go any further, and he turned back to look at the proximity of the fiercely shouting Huntsmen, a branch caught under Fflewddur's satchel, pulling him harp and all off of his horse and flying through the underbrush.

At first, the world was a blur of dirt, leaves, and blue streaks of the sky until he smacked his head upon the trunk of a rather unnecessarily large oak tree.

The world spun and danced so much that the bard could not discern from which direction the marching feet approached.

He hung his head low and waited.

At least he had given them a good chase. He hoped Belin would take mercy on his soul, seeing the good intentions behind his works.

He instinctively reached around to clutch his harp and began to mutter a prayer for the afterlife. A moment passed...then a minute...then finally Fflewddur opened one eye in a nervous squint and peered around.

The forest lay quiet, the distant yelling of the Huntsman of Annuvin fading in the distance, no doubt chasing Doli.

"Good old Doli" He muttered, thumping his head down to the ground in relief.

Now he only had to find the others.

* * *

For the remainder of that day, Fflewddur kept up a noble search. Though honorable in intentions, he internally realized that his lack of tracking acumen was most likely leading him to march about in circles. Finally, as the day faded, Fflewddur found himself a safe glen of weeping willows in which to sleep. He set his harp up against two large roots to prevent it from being dirtied and balled up his cloak to serve as a makeshift pillow. But try as he might, the bard could not get to sleep. After many minutes of tossing and turning, he rose up to wander about

He anxiously paced the length of the glen and rubbed the back of his neck with his long musician's fingers.

_Adaon is wounded...where had he been hit? _Fflewddur struggled to remember.

He could see Adaon's silent plea across the battlefield as he flopped wearily over his horse's neck. Flewdeur followed the memory down the length of Adaon's body where he saw his hand gripping his lower chest as blood poured out.

Though Fflewddur had exaggerated many a battle, he had seen a fair amount of action, and he knew a fatal wound when he saw one. There was little chance that Adaon had survived it.

If anyone could it would be his strange, wonderful, mystically gifted friend...and yet Fflewddur doubted.

Fflewddur leaned heavily on a weeping willow's trunk and thought of Adaon laying dead on a field, as peaceful as it had been in life. Adaon's shoulder length black hair lay to either side, a few strays hairs stuck to his forehead from the sweat of battle. His mild yet strangely firm features lay in a perfect state of repose, and barring the wound that glistened with blood, he looked to be asleep.

It cast Fflewddur back to his years at the bard academy when they had shared a room. As the son of Taliesin, Adaon need not sleep with the other students in the rather limited dormitories. And yet, once he had observed that Fflewddur was almost always alone with all the other bard students wisely avoiding the presence of such an energetic and foolish young man, Adaon requested to be Fflewddur's roommate. He would look just like that as he lay on his bed, a soft smile, eyes closed, listening to Fflewddur's piteous attempts to make music.

The young king's heart gave a piteous cry of pain and Fflewddur reached up to rub his chest wearily.

_Great Belin...what a perfect waste of a life._

Fflewddur had never thought of himself as a self sacrificing man. He knew his own weaknesses all too well, and barring the children that had become so dear to him, he was sure that his first instinct would be to save himself...that is, except for Adaon.

_Oh, Gods, not Adaon. He was everything I was and better, he was a better leader, a great bard, an honest man. Why would you take someone like him and leave someone like me? He had everything to live for! His father, his home and his fiance..._

That thought rocked Fflewddur back, sending him sprawling to the ground in grief.

"Oh Gods, what would I tell Arianllyn?" He cried out to no one.

And no one answered him.

Fflewddur remained there the rest of the night, one arm propped over his raised knee, his hands covering his face as he silently wept. Hundreds of memories of his friend flooded his mind until his harp, stirred either from pity or from the breeze, began to play a soothing melody until he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Something that I've recently discovered in my course of psychology studies in college, (for a class not my major) those who are compulsive liars which is close to what Fflewddur is instead of a Pathological liar, those who are compulsive liars often have a low self-esteem and for those who lying is a habit it is often traced back to childhood. Though this chapter is lighter-hearted than the last, and I do intend to blend serious with light-hearted, there is a sad side to Fflewddur's apparent blithe absentminded lying. I believe, having read over a few scenes carefully a couple of times that Fflewddur lies out of habit rather than by choice very often. Besides exploring Fflewddur's relationship with Adaon and Arianllyn and the other companions, this fic will hopefully explore why he has developed many of the tics he has.**

* * *

Six Years Ago

The fierce summer sun beat down on the bare head of the young king Fflewddur Fflam like a blacksmith upon an anvil.

The blond hair did nothing to block the fierce rays which he was sure was currently tinging his scalp pink.

It had taken over five hours for him to realize that he had left his home without coat, hat, or change of clothes.

"That's just like me." He said with a laugh as he happily reached into his breeches pocket to pull out a large handkerchief.

He looked down the length of his somewhat hawkish nose at the brightly spotted kerchief's blue and yellow dots, a gift from Enfys, his kingdom's resident cook, housekeeper, laundry maid and keeper of the king's garden and bee houses. She had shed a genuine tear, or two Fflewddur believed…_the only one who did. _

A feeling of discontent rose up in Fflewddur's chest, re-opening an old gnawing wound of a lack of self-esteem.

"What am I saying? The whole kingdom was weeping at my departure, young maidens strew flowers, and the farmers played a sad lament on their flutes and drums." He said blithely, willing the truth out of his head.

Fflewddur smiled at the thought of being so missed, happy once again he tied the spotted handkerchief around his neck then slipped it up over his head like a dairy maid.

"A Fflam is ever inventive," He said aloud.

His horse whickered and tossed back its head in agreement, or so Fflewddur thought.

A million and one thoughts were running through the young man's head as he bounced up and down on the back of his piebald mare.

What instrument should he specialize in?

How long would it take him to pass the test?

Would his ballads and lays be added into the Bard hall of lore?

Would he meet many other bards there?

_Would he make friends?_

Would he be such a natural that he was appointed the successor to Taliesin, Chief Bard of Prydain?

And so Fflewddur continued.

The next day he arrived at the gates of Caer Dathyl and had to pull up his horse's reins in disbelief.

This was a castle.

Any misconception he had had about his kingdom was properly corrected as he stared up at the shining parapets of the castle. The towers gleamed like spears in the hands of some giant guards watching over the bustling citizens working in their shadows. A passing farmer pulling his reluctant mule by the lead slowed as he passed Fflewddur when he saw the young man's awe-stricken face. The man turned curiously over his shoulder and stared back at the castle. Seeing nothing wrong, he turned back again to peer inquisitively at the lanky blonde man.

"Isn't it glorious?" Fflewddur said companionably to the stranger down beside him.

The old farmer just stared in alarm, his eyes tracing over the blue and yellow spotted bonnet in confusion.

"I know…I'm speechless too. You are lucky to live here my friend! Great Belin, but it is a great estate!"

The farmer just raised an eyebrow and continued to stare at this tall grinning scarecrow before him.

Fflewddur nodded sagaciously, the ridiculous kerchief flapping atop his head.

"Well, I am off to meet the Chief Bard of Prydain, Taliesin the Great, perhaps you've heard of him. Then I shall see if any of my kin are about. So I shall take my leave of you, sir." He said.

When the farmer nodded dumbly, Fflewddur clicked his tongue and clapped his heels spurring his horse onward.

"The house of Fflam shall leave quite an impression in these halls," Fflewddur declared to himself as he passed beneath the massive portcullis.

He was unaware of the impression he had already begun to make.

The next few hours went by in a relative blur. Fflewddur presented himself to the council of Bards with as much courage as he could muster, though he stumbled over the flagstones entering the chamber, and stuttered through his introduction and embarrassingly could not recall where he was from for a good ten seconds when asked. Seated at the head of the council was the noble Taliesin. The dark hair of the great bard had begun to fade into gray, but the deep eyes still pierced with all the energy of youth. He sat, his eyes crinkling merrily as he watched Fflewddur present himself. As the lean king flapped his arms with the abandon of a rooster and told the bemused council of his dreams of becoming a great bard, Taliesin looked about at the others watching. They were not quite as amused as he was. They were kind enough, but he could see the looks of doubt in their eyes. They did not believe he had what it took to become a great bard. Taliesin turned back around and steepled his fingers against his mouth, peering at the man before him again.

They were probably right, Taliesin acknowledged. However, he had always had a keener insight to men than most, matched only by his young son already a prodigy at 23.

The man before him had the potential to become a good musician, but not a great bard. His heart did not yearn to listen to the ancient mysteries of the world, to lean into the music of the ages and give it voice. He might learn to play and write music, but he would never be a great bard.

Yet, despite all of that, Taliesin saw a glimmer of something within him. A sign that the man before him was a good man, a man with the heart of a poet who would play a part of some great story even if he did not realize it. Maybe he would be an instrument of music, more than a musician mastering an instrument.

He refocused on what the blonde was currently saying.

"S-so, that is my request. My Lords…and Ladies, meaning no disrespect of course. I think it absolutely wonderful that there are lady bards here in Caer Dathyl…" The desperate young king stammered onward digging himself into a hole.

Taliesin took pity on him and rose, cutting him off.

"My dear king Fflewddur Fflam,"

"Oh please, Fflewddur. I shall not be a king anymore I don't expect at least, assuming all goes well here, of course.."

Taliesin gave a paternal smile and interlaced his fingers calmly.

"You have a great spirit, Fflewddur, and I am sure that the council would be more than happy to assist you in your training as you prepare to take the test."

The young man practically glowed with excitement, and Taliesin had to wonder if there was any relation to Belin, he seemed to brighten so much.

Fflewddur swept down in a hasty bow, his arm sweeping out over his long outstretched leg. The motion made him aware of the blue and yellow handkerchief still tied atop his head. Fflewddur hastily snatched it off, his hair now standing up like corn stalks in a field or the rays of the sun.

Taliesin had to fight back the urge to smile.

"You are welcome to move into any of the rooms requisitioned by the council for aspiring bards. Many students bunk together in groups of two or three and I encourage you to take the advantage to study together, learn from each other, and above all, study hard. This test is not easy and requires great dedication." The Chief Bard said, to the approving nods of the listening council.

"Oh of course, absolutely; I shall study hard. A Fflam never fails when they set their mind to things."

The council rose to depart, and Fflewddur bowed once more before dashing out of the room.

* * *

A servant led Fflewddur to the dormitories for students. Two rooms were currently unoccupied, so he was given the freedom to choose whatever he wished.

"Great Belin, but these are small. I mean, I am of course honored to be here, but they are, ah, cozier than expected."

"I wouldn't know sir," The servant mumbled bored of the conversation and the young man's exuberance.

"Here's your key sir, and Master Taliesin sent you this list with the names of area tailors, cobblers, and the like who can get you what you'll be needing I expect. Since you forgot to pack anything with you."

"Ah yes, very good of him." Flewdeur beamed, taking the list. "Be sure to give him my thanks. Will I be seeing you around the castle?" Fflewddur asked excitedly.

The servant gave a non-committal shrug and lumbered off, leaving the young man slightly crestfallen. _It might be just like at home. _No! Fflewddur shook his head, chasing away the thought. _It will be different here._

He tossed the heavy key in the air once or twice and thus having tested its weight dropped it unceremoniously into his breeches pocket. Now to get some supplies...

Fflewddur just went to turn about the corner from the dormitories when he collided with someone. The collision sent them both down in an unceremonious heap of scrolls, legs and quill feathers, with cries of "Great Belin" and "Careful."

"I'm so sorry." The victim laughed, scooping up his scrolls and quills. "I should have been looking where I was going."

"Nonsense, it was all my own fault." Fflewddur said apologetically.

He stacked the final scroll on top of the leaning tower in the young man's arms with a pat and backed out of the way.

"Thank you." Said the dark haired stranger. A hand popped out of the stack of scrolls towards Fflewddur.

"My name is Adaon, you must be one of the new students."

"Why, yes, I am. I am Fflewddur."

The dark grey eyes of the stranger lit up with amusement. "Flaming? I can see why," He said, pointing to the young man's unruly hair.

Fflewddur laughed and shrugged.

"Odd coincidence I suppose, I was apparently as bald as an egg when I was named."

"Well, I must be somewhere. But, it was nice meeting you Fflewddur. I will see you around I'm sure." Adaon said already leaving.

* * *

Fflewddur shot awake from the forest floor, leaves stuck to the ends of his spiky wild hair, and breathing heavily.

The bard placed a hand on his chest and looked about in confusion. The council...it had been a dream. A memory he had not considered in a good long time. What could have.

Ah, of course, Adaon.

Fflewddur jumped to his feet, despite his unsteadiness and squinted up at the sky.

Late morning. Somehow, despite the seriousness of yesterday's events he had managed to sleep longer than usual.

Fflewddur looked over at his harp accusingly.

"This is all your fault isn't it?" He said. "I'll never forgive you for letting me sleep so late."

The highest harp string broke with a plink as if to say, "Liar."

Despite the worry gnawing at him, Fflewddur couldn't help but smile as he slung it on his back.

"Oh, alright. I'll forgive you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Dedicated to CompanionWandered and Adaon45. Who are, no doubt the only two who will read this, but it is appreciated none the less. Also, as school is starting back up for me, I will update less often, but I hope to do it at least once a month. **

**Note: I also went back and fixed ALL the spelling of Fflewddur, both in the title and in the body of the work. Thank you for letting me know! *Casts **myself** into the Cauldron for that big mistake.* :P**

* * *

Caer Dathyl was a magnificent structure, but its beauty could not be described in any language that he felt himself master of. Fflewddur wandered about, his fingers trailing the stone daffodils and Acanthus swags on the moldings with instinctive, childlike wonder.

This place had to be like the heavens come down to earth, or the closest thing to perfection this side of heaven; or so Fflewddur thought. He moved out of the Chambers reserved for the bards that made up one wing of the keep and down and out into the open courtyard. Trees ingeniously planted in specially dug deep holes within the stone insured that the roots would not disrupt the foundation of the building, yet would provide shade. There were 8 massive structures for the holes but sadly only six ancient trees rose from 6 of the holes. The other two were filled in with beautifully tiled mosaics.

Fflewddur stood on one of the mosaics and looked up at the sky curiously, then back down again at the twirling sunflower shape that seemed to move on its own. What skill, did such a craftsman have to attain such a gift!

And yet...why wasn't there a tree here...?

"Yet another gift stolen by Arawn Death-Lord, I am afraid."

Fflewddur looked up, startled at the sudden appearance of Taliesin, looking almost like a part of the stonework he stood so still.

"Beg...pardon, I don't know what you mean."

Taliesin shook himself out of his reverie and pointed at the two empty circles now graced with lovely mosaics.

"The secret of Caer Dathyl's architecture, the very bones of the building are built in such a way that everything is in perfect harmony. The holes for these trees were specially made for their roots, providing shade and relief on a hot summer day like today without disrupting the beautiful stonework." Here the man smiled at the boy next to him in an apologetic manner, "I merely mean to say that when Arawn Death-Lord stole much knowledge from the Valley and Hill Cantrevs some knowledge of Caer Dathyl was lost as well."

The yellow brows of the bard knit together in consternation. History was not his greatest strength, and yet something struck him as strange.

"Sir, I do not mean to question you, but I had thought Caer Dathyl built by the sons of Don. Their secrets would not have been stolen by, well, him..."Here the young king's voice trailed off, like a waterskin stopped by the grasp of a fist.

"First of all, there is never any offense in offering someone knowledge, or in attempting to correct the understanding of someone. Any man who takes offense to your speaking in friendship and offering the gift of knowledge suffers from a great lack of confidence. Always remember that Fflewddur." Here the older man stretched, his hands clasped together as he stretched them away from his back in a languid arch. "However, in this I am right. The people who lived here before the construction of the keep and the great wall built the solid foundations of the castle, the very structure on which we stand. In short, the sons of Don built the body, but the bones of Caer Dathyl were here long before. These trees, how their roots grow in those tunnels is a mystery. So as we lose each tree to storm or lightning or blight, we must remove it and cover the hole over. Thus..." Here the bard made a sweeping gesture before them.

Fflewddur nodded a moment, unsure why such information was important, so he remained quiet a moment in the hopes of appearing in deep reflection, such as befit a bard. _Think Fflewddur, what would a Fflam say? _"If they want shade they could always plant trees in a pot." Fflewddur cringed inside. That didn't sound as elegant as he had intended.

Taliesin hesitated a moment and then laughed, shaking his head gently in amusement.

After an appropriate pause, where Fflewddur waited for a response, he flicked his eyes up a few times to peer curiously at the strange figure beside him.

There was much about the man that invited questioning. In the first place; to have a man that you have idolized, thought about, heard about so much that he has become an almost mythological figure, stand before you is rather dizzying. But even more so when this great artist, a magician of music and song, the truly ancient mysteries of the world, stands before you in simple linen smocks waxing philosophical about holes in the ground.

This, at least, was as Fflewddur saw it.

After an appropriate pause, where each second of standing still was like torment to the energetic young man, he dared break the silence.

"I was just on my way to the shops in the village beyond. One of the serving-men gave me your list. I must thank you for that, I fear that I've made quite a fool of myself arriving without belongings. Though who knows, perhaps it is fortuitous, a clean break, a fresh start and all that." Fflewddur became self-aware of those deep gray eyes on him and shut his jaw with a snap.

"I'm glad your highn-...Fflewddur. I just wanted to give you one last thing that I had forgotten in the chambers. Your scrip." Here Taliesin stretched forward a lean hand, his palm open to reveal a simple but elegant woven badge.

"It marks you as a student here. Should you need it."

"Oh," Fflewddur started forward in surprise and clasped it to his chest gratefully. "Why, thank you. I would have expected papers or something. Of course, Caer Dathyl would have something so elegant." He began to afix the badge to his chest with the pin that held a scraggly wildflower picked up during his journey, but then looked at Taliesin. "Why would I need a badge? Most students here aren't wearing one."

The delightful gray eyes crinkled mysteriously. "Oh, I've no idea. I just thought it could be useful. Carry on, and be careful."

Then, like a fresh summer breeze Taliesin swept back up the courtyard into the keep.

Fflewddur nodded his thanks and watched him leave in admiration.

"That there is a bard!" Thought Fflewddur admiringly.

It did not take long for the young man to cross the courtyard flagstones and make his way to the barbican. He ducked through the narrow passageway, eyes bright and with his bouncing step. The passageway was dark and barely wide enough for two people side by side, but it twisted and turned in a downward slope into what was no doubt the lower town.

"I say, this barbican is used to entrap enemies, I wonder what sort of traps they have prepared in it." Fflewddur looked up at the gaping holes in the sides and roof where boiling oil or arrows or hot tar could be poured down on unsuspecting invaders, suddenly his bouncing step was a lot quicker as he made his way out.

Dazzling sunlight blinded Fflewddur as he left the dark archway of the barbican. He lefted a narrow hand to block the sun and squinted down at the village sprawled outward, the orange tiled roofs cheerily reflecting the light of the day back at the sky.

This wasn't such a bad place to make a fresh start, Fflewddur thought. Not such a bad place at all...

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it.

Next chapter we'll start meeting more of our extended cast for this little story. I haven't exactly decided how long it will be, but it will probably go on a while. I'll probably take time to make other Prydain one shots just to keep my creative juices fresh, because multi chapter stories are, from experience, highly draining to continue.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to everybody who has read this. Also, thanks to everyone who reads out loud to children, because you keep magic alive. **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter; also, we get to meet my iteration of Arianlynn next section and get to see more Adaon too! **

It was by a happy chance that Caer Dathyl was exceptionally beautiful the day Fflewddur went down to explore its city streets, which was how he would remember it forever. That golden moment, when the cool breeze kept the sun's heat from being unbearable, people resting under the shades of the eaves to play flutes or work on their crafts while chatting neighborly. The atmosphere as a whole was so idyllic that it was not twenty paces past the first block before Fflewddur was in the best of spirits and ready to please and take pleasure in anything.

One noise particularly stood out to him amongst all the gaiety and pleasant thriftiness. The raucous peal of children's laughter caught at Fflewddur's ears like a fish to bait, and he turned his blond head about to find the source of the noise.

A flash of red and blue in the alleyway beside him soon revealed a small courtyard that ran along the back of several shops, where half a dozen boys and even a few girls chased after an inflated pig bladder ball.

It was utterly delightful chaos as they shrieked and gamboled after the little ball. Too young to hurt each other, they ran into each other and toppled over giggling like little newborn lambs.

Then all of a sudden, there was a cry of dismay as the ball rose in the air, and instead of touching the woodcarver's saw horse as the intended goal post, bounced off the edge and flew down the well.

The kids shrieked and ran to the well's rim, looking down sadly at their lost prize.

Fflewddur shook off his over tunic, and lay it on the fence post nearby, aware that with children, it was always put someone at ease to see them more casually dressed like one of them.

He walked over casually to an empty spot near the well and peered down conspiratorially with the children.

"I say, who put that down there?"

The children looked up in shock and took a step away from the well.

Fflewddur did not react and continued to peer down curiously, his demeanor gentle and open so as not to frighten them.

"It's not all that far down there. I bet I could get it." The children exchanged glances with each other reservedly, silently deciding whether they should flee or wait.

Fflewddur looked up finally and gave them all a crooked grin.

"How about I see." And with that, the young man grasped the rope, tugged once to check its strength, and then, turning to the children and holding his nose comically, he jumped down into the well.

The children shouted in unison and darted forward to check on him.

Fflewddur slid down the rope about six feet before putting his feet out to slow his descent. After a few steps down, he reached down to where the pig's bladder bobbed lazily in the dark depths.

Eight little dark heads peered down nervously, silhouetted against the sunlight.

"I've got it!?" Fflewddur shouted up at them, holding the prized toy above his head and dripping water in his face.

Little cheers from above made him smile, and the urge to perform rose up in his chest.

"Wait a moment, is that," Fflewddur feigned alarm and started to climb back up slowly, "there isn't a monster down here is there? AAAA! It's got me!" He shouted.

The children screamed in fear and ran away, huddled together in a group near the shops. Too afraid to approach, but feeling it wrong to abandon the strange man to his fate, they just stood and watched the well.

Then, ominously, the well's rope began to rotate, as someone or something attempted to climb it.

There was a heavy pause as the rope stopped, then suddenly the ball appeared, triumphantly lifted by a slippery hand.

A shaggy blond head dripping with water appeared next over the stone rim, grinning sheepishly.

The appearance of the stranger alive and their ball returned earned three cheers from the children who ran over to the well jumping and bouncing as the soaked man clambered over the edge.

"All right, all right, give me a moment. Here you are, yes, yes, you're welcome. Of course, well, how do you do?" Fflewddur found himself pelted with a dozen little pats on the arm and questions from the children who crowded around him.

He ran an arm over his face drying the water off as he tried to focus on them all.

"It was my pleasure. Really."

Determined to adopt him among their number, the children began to participate in the rituals that Fflewddur knew as the universal language of children. One of the boys, a scrappy kid with red hair, sat down to the ground next to him and offered him a particularly beautiful pebble, and asked Fflewddur what his name was, but without waiting for a response, he stated breathlessly that his name was Atawn.

"Pleasure to meet you, Atawn. I am Fflewddur."

Immediately all the children began to press in and share their names too. The exchange of names was like some ancient magical hex that bound them together. Before lng, they were all capering. Fflewddur happily served as the new goalpost who ran away from both teams of children, adding a new element to their game.

At one point, one of the little girls, Atawn's little sister, tripped over the hem of her long frock, but the young king caught her mid-fall and set her on her feet again.

"Are you alright?" He bent down to ask her.

But her response was cut off by the sound of shattering glass.

Fflewddur stood up and looked about to find the source.

As he had stooped to speak with the little girl, one of the children had tried to kick the ball at Fflewddur, which instead had flown straight into the open window of a shop.

The back door came flying open and the angry shopkeep, came storming outside. He walked straight passed the aspiring bard, and to the knot of guilty looking children.

"Who is guilty of this, eh? Thinking you can break other people's property! I'll have you by your ears!" He raised a dust rag and swatted at the children, who scattered like field mice.

Fflewddur felt a frown cross his face, and he loosened his hold on the little one's arm.

"Go to your brother." He said to her.

One of the boys was not so lucky, and the man grabbed him by the cowl.

"Who's gonna pay me for my damages, lad?"

"Sir, the fault is entirely mine, Fflewddur said, approaching the two, arms raised in a non-threatening manner. "There's no harm done; I can pay for any damages."

Fflewddur wasn't sure that was entirely true, but he hoped the amount of gold he had would be enough to cover the costs. If not, he could always work to pay back the debt.

As the man considered this new stranger with shifty eyes, appraising him like a side of beef, the captured boy made the mistake of trying to pull away.

"Don't you dare try to pull away from me, lad!" Said the man, cuffing the boy in the back of the head."

"Alright, that's enough!" Fflewddur said, the smile dropping off his face as he pulled the man's arm. "You'll get your money."

"Who is gonna ensure that?"

"I said, I will. Now, let him be, friend; you're hurting him." Fflewddur said, breaking the man's grasp on the boy.

The shopkeeper hissed a moment angrily at the fleeing boy before turning and swinging instinctively at Fflewddur.

The young man was caught entirely off guard by the aggressor's first punch and stumbled back a moment.

As the fist had struck his face, he had caught a whiff of ale d_runk this early? No wonder._

Fflewddur had no desire to hurt a drunken man and so stepped away.

"Hey there, there's no need for that kind of-"

Fflewddur was cut short by the man barrelling blindly into him.

They went down in the dirt, and Fflewddur felt the wind knock out of him as a heavy elbow collided with his ribs.

"Great Belin, I-" Fflewddur gasped out as he wrestled the drunken man off of him.

He shoved the man in the stomach with his shoulder, just enough to push him off, but not before the attacker got another swing on him.

Fflewddur scrabbled backward away on all fours until he whacked his head against a workbench, sending more goods flying to the ground.

The blond king winced and realized that it was probably not a good sign that he was starting to see stars appear.

_Great job Fflewddur, how do you always end up in the thick of things?_

The realization that more of his merchandise lay destroyed finally got through the drunken haze of the shopkeep's mind.

He gave a bellicose roar and got to his feet.

Nearby implements soon became projectiles.

Shingles, buckets, a hand trowel, and more flung through the air. They narrowly missed the blond head that bobbed and weaved to avoid them.

The man then drew up to his full height, lifted a loose plank from off the fence, and wielded it dangerously, his shadow falling ominously upon the king.

Fflewddur closed his eyes and braced for the impact.

**I hope you enjoyed that. Also, I'm planning on writing a few Prydain one-shots to keep me motivated in the next few weeks. I'm doing college part-time this semester because I just got a full-time job and am moving out on my own! *internal screaming* Anyway, writing these things keeps me relaxed. So if you have any one-shot requests, feel free to shoot them my way. **

**Beth**


	5. Chapter 5

The dread blow never came, and in its place a female voice came from behind Fflewddur's prone position.

"Padarn! For shame!"

Fflewddur winced, waiting for the blow…but when seconds passed with no attack he flinched an eye open, to find out why and for how long his assailant had been stalled.

The blustering shopkeeper wavered where he stood, the large plank of wood trailed into the ground beside him, as he leaned onto it for support. He wore a hangdog look as he avoided looking at the woman who had shouted. Fflewddur did not know the explanation, nor did he wait for one as he scrambled backward with the urgency of a sandflea.

Once he had put two or three yards between himself and the shopkeep, he found himself beside the long yellow folds of a woman's petticoat. Fflewddur blinked up at her, through the sun that created a bright halo of light around her. She was of average height, with brown hair that escaped her white coif in curls, a blue linen tunic hung over the petticoat and was bound by a cord from which hung a leather bag and a what appeared to be a long narrow parchment script, at least two hands long.

The woman strode past the prone king, with a rustle and spoke to the man now identified as Padarn. Her voice was too low and soft for Fflewddur to make out, but the shopkeeper's voice rose enough to be distinguished.

"He broke my wares!...No…well it was a child's…yes! I…maybe a small drink…my problem, look at my wares…my fault? No…no of course not…indeed! Take him off then, he is not worth the sore arm in the morning!"

Fflewddur picked himself up at this point, and began self-examination, to ensure he still had all his limbs and features in the right place. Apart from a bruise on his arm, he was relieved to discover he was relatively unscathed. Padarn stormed into the shop.

The children had all fled the scene minutes ago, but their ball remained nestled in a tuft of grass. The young king wandered over and picked up the toy, he would find one of the village children to give it to, if he left it here no doubt the bilious man would take his revenge out on it. Fflewddur remembered more than one toy that vanished when it encountered the wrath of an adult. He tucked the ball into the crook of his arm to carry when the young woman who had come to his rescue approached him. She was certainly young, but her dark black eyebrows over black pearl eyes gave the impression of a much older woman.

She smiled lightly, but her eyes remained serious as she focused on the blond king. "Well," she said. "Did he hit you? Where do you feel pain?

The pleasant conversational voice was so opposed to her professional and businesslike words that Fflewddur stared stupidly a moment processing.

"Did you hit your head? You may want to sit down. I can send for someone at the school." She tried to guide Fflewddur down to a sitting position.

"Oh, no. I am well, quite well. Nothing injured but my pride…and my arm, but it is certainly fortunate you arrived when you did…for him I mean. He caught me off guard but a Fflam is dangerous in a fight."

Her eyes crinkled into a soft smile. "Oh, of course."

"I mean, of course I do not mean to appear grateful… I am much obliged-very much so- to you. Fflewddur gave a gallant bow, or what would have appeared gallant if he did not stop half way down with a wince.

"I knew you had injured yourself!" She said with a tut, grabbing him by the arm and walking back onto the street with him. Let us get you back to the College, I was heading that way myself."

"I really have errands that must-How did you know?…" Fflewddur wondered if perhaps something in his air gave off the impression of a bard and swelled up at the thought of it.

"The scrip on your chest, it is the badge of a student is it not?"

Fflewddur blushed the whole length of his hawkish nose and back. "Oh of course, naturally."

Once onto the high street the young man convinced the woman that he was well enough to walk unaided, though he allowed her to accompany him back up to the college. They soon joined in light hearted and friendly conversation, and Fflewddur found himself almost forgetting the embarrassing circumstances of their meeting.

"So," she began. "Your name truly is Fflewddur Fflam? How charming, your parents must have the greatest sense of humor. It rolls off the tongue doesn't it?"

"I would say it tumbles more like, but that's fitting for me." Fflewddur said in a rare moment of self-deprecating honesty in his effort to avoid discussion of his parents. "What of you?"

"Oh, Arianllyn. She said.

"What a beautiful name." He replied.

"Oh no really? Well I don't think so, it's my mother's name…and my great aunt, and my cousin's. It's a little overused in my mind. Fflewddur Fflam now that is unique, truly fitting of a bard I'd say."

The noonday sun glared fiercely from below Caer Dathyl's walls so it was with some relief when they put their backs to its light on the slow climb to the castle.

"Well we shall see," Fflewddur said. "It's only my first day here you know."

"NOooo," she anunciated in mock surprise. "I never would have guessed."

"Thank you, I- you're laughing at me!" Fflewddur said in shock. "Am I that green?"

"Like a freshly sprouted sapling I'm afraid…don't give me that look! Anyone in town knows to avoid Padarn when he's had too much drink. Which is almost every day I am afraid."

"Well then why were you in the yard of his shop?" Fflewddur asked.

"Oh, I am his physician. I was coming by to give him th-this!" She pulled out a vial from the leather pouch at her waist and put her head in her other hand. "Oh I cannot believe I forgot this. I will have to go back." The young woman tucked the vial back with a flick of her wrist and tightened up her belt. As if she were a mountaineer preparing for a journey.

"I can accompany you," Fflewddur said. "For protection." And he meant it.

"Oh no that's kind you need rest. In fact, here." She pulled out a small handful of leaves and tucked them into Fflewddur's outstretched hand. Soak them in boiling war for an hour then put them on your back with a cloth overnight. It should help your sore back.

Fflewddur thanked her prodigiously and felt a little resistant to saying goodbye to such an intelligent and friendly person. He did his best to delay the conversation ending, but once he reached the portcullis there was no further delay.

"Well it is goodbye then. Perhaps I shall see you about the town?"

"Perhaps so. I am here quite often visiting a friend…oh would you like me to take that back to the village with me to give to the children?" She said pointing at his hand.

"What the leaves? I thought you wanted me to use them." He said in confusion.  
"No not the leaves silly I mean the ball!" She took the offered article with a hearty bout of rich laughter and waved once more to the king on her way down the slope.

Fflewddur smiled as he watched her leave… after a long pause he smiled at himself to turn back into the welcoming protection of the keep's wall's when he shot out a hand to catch himself at the threshold.

Fflewddur shot his other hand into his pocket and pulled out the rumpled piece of paper with a groan.

"The shopping list." He hissed.


End file.
